


Fractured and F***able:  Twisted Fairy Tales for Adults

by alephthirteen



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms, Original Work
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2019-08-12
Packaged: 2020-08-20 05:23:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20222515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alephthirteen/pseuds/alephthirteen
Summary: I have a series of wackadoodle story prompts bookmarked that I want to try and this is where I'm trying them.  Stories will range greatly in length.  Some stories will have romance, some sex, some gayness.  None will have transphobia, homophobia or racism.For example:Vampires on D-Day.Monsters in the closet or under the bed doing what Child Protective Services will not.Demons and angels in meet-cutes, love-hate relationships and odd couples.Dragons locked in towers, waiting for their princess.Princesses locked in long-empty towers and gaurded day and night, lest she lay waste to the land with the wizard's leftover trinkets.Fairies running community gardens, werewolves running animal shelters, incubii modeling menswear, vampires going out with the girls.Urban legends and horror tropes gone wrong...ax murderers hunted for sport, "final girls" drawing first blood, evil spirits summoned to homes too chaotic to care.





	Fractured and F***able:  Twisted Fairy Tales for Adults

**"Blood on the Beach"**

Clack-clack-clack. Polished heels strike cobblestones. Warm breath meets chill night air. Pleas for mercy cut through the fog.

Like a cobra, I strike. Like iron chains, I ensnare.

I grab him by the scalp, seeing as how his haircut leaves me no purchase. A handful of tiny crunches catch my ears. His skull is gradually yielding.

"S-s-stop," the man wails, his mustachioed lip quivering.

"I can't," I sigh. "The boys need me. Morons like you will get them all killed."

My fangs flick out quick as like Diaggo's beloved switchblades.

"Nothing personal, sir."

Ten minutes later, a man's body falls off the cliffs of Dover. Even when smashed against the rocks below, it does not bleed.

"Anyone seen the LT?" Stein asks.

"That asshole?" 

"Probably got drunk and went after some skirts…"

"Cut the chatter, ladies!" I snarl.

Under our feet, the boat's thin steel floor shakes and shudders. Flak shells burst overhead, black smoke blooming and red-hot steel raining onto the waves.

A fragment of red-hot Nazi steel streaks towards Thompson's head. I lunge, snatching it before it can empty his helmet onto the deck. Palming it quickly, I hope no one noticed my speed or the sizzling of my flesh.

Another hail of shells from the _ Texas _ roars overhead, rattling my teeth. Not long after, the Brits join in, the _ Warspite _ and the _ Rodney _adding their efforts. Shells the size of a damned Chrysler hit a bunker, blowing away half the sandy hill behind it but leaving the Krauts and their guns intact. The naval gun inside replies and I pray--how long since I prayed?--that they miss.

The silver of mother's rosary sizzles against my palm, leaving a mark that may never heal. 

Curses and dead men gnaw at my mind, mocking me.

_ You're a monster, not a hero, _ laughs Father McConnell.

_ I don't never want you round here no more, _ whimpers French Rosie. _ Ain't enough gold in the world to fuck a devil. _How strange her spirit is inside me. I never harmed her in any way. The other ghosts are all those I killed.

_ You're a pretty fella, aren'tcha? _ The Lieutenant asks. _ War oughta fix that. _

_ My sweet boy, _ purrs Countess Marquette, _ you and I will do great things. Wine and maiden's blood will fill our cups and all of France will kneel, quivering, at our feet. _

I'd gargle with holy water if it got that twisted bitch out of my head...but I suppose she's my punishment.

"Are we gonna die, Sarge?" snivels Connelly.

I grab him by the back of the neck, my eyes boring into his.

"Zig when I zig and zag when I zag, boy," I command, watching his pupils shrink and green fire light behind his eyes as I bend his mind. "And I swear by God's whiskers, you'll live."

Not fifty paces ahead, Omaha beach beckons. A tangle of wire and bladed steel gizmos shaped like a child's jumping jacks--assuming the devil has children--and a line of Krauts with machine guns ready to kill every man and boy in this boat.

Thousands will die today. All I can do is make sure the twenty-odd men in the boat with me are not among them.

I call up everything I have and grip the railing just inside the ramp.

"Come on, boys. Let's give them a show."

I see the rifle bullet coming but there's no dodging it. If I do, Stein's head gets blown off. I'll heal but I'll need blood. I need a kill...before I reach the Nazi lines. The corkscrew of hot air surrounding it leads my eyes back to the sniper like a bread crumb trail.

The bullet strikes.

Strangest thing is, I feel no pain. When I was young, I always did. The knife in the gut, the woman's nails on my cheek. It all _ hurt. _I suppose after a while, I realized it was in my head. That it didn't have to hurt if I didn't let it.

"Fuck! They got sarge!"

I make it back to my feet and pull off my ruined helmet. The extra steel at the back did it's job. No one saw the shell hit me and it never came out the back. The cut on the side of my head from the ricochet lets me pass it off as a grazing shot.

"Goddamned krauts," I mutter.

"Heh," Connelly chuckles. "Tough bastard like you...oughta have been an Irishmen, boss."

We slam into the shallows and the ramp drops.

"Go go go!" shouts the driver, moments before a sniper's round empties his skull.

I surge forward, machine gun shells twirling in the air around me, as slow as dandelion tufts. I hear the clicks of mines triggering as I pass them. I snatch as many as I can, flinging them up the beach towards the enemy. One goes off in my hand, a Bouncing Betty full of buckshot. My arm knits quickly but the thirst is maddening now. Grabbing one of the dragon's teeth, I heave it sideways, clearing a path wide enough for a Jeep to follow. 

Whipping out my dagger, I slash the barbed wire with red hot steel.

I make it back to the men before any of them take a hit.

Connelly dives into the sand beside me, shimmying over behind a small boulder. 

_ Smart lad. _

"Gosh, you're fast," he whispers.

I wink at him.

"Sniper," I tell him. "Ten o'clock high. By the birch tree."

I toss him the compact mirror the whore in London gave me. She gave one to every john, I later found out. Her way of helping the war effort...proving she's smarter than half the colonels were.

"Tilt it slow, boy. Don't want a flash telling him where you are."

"I see him," Connelly breathes.

I check my tommy gun's magazine and flick it to automatic.

"When I pop up, he's going to duck. When he comes back, you pop up and shoot, got it?"

He nods.

"This ain't a game, kid. If you hesitate, he'll pop ya."

"I got it, boss."

"Alright then."

Leaping to my feet, I train on the sniper's perch and pour thirty rounds out faster than the Kraut can blink. Lucky fire from a machine gun bites my shoulder but I keep firing, fangs drilling into my jaw as I bite down to ignore the pain and thirst both. As lead sprays the rock behind him, the sniper flattens behind his barricade. He comes back up when the firing stops, the blue glint of his optics announcing his return.

Connelly fires. Blood paints the wall behind him.

"Attaboy."

"Never killed anyone," he mumbles. "Feel like I'm going to be sick."

His eyes flick downward to his crucifix, which is tangled in his shirt buttons. I clap him on the shoulder.

"We'll find a priest tonight, all right?"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Able company!" I bellow. "With me."

Before noon, I glut myself as I never have before. 

By nightfall, I've drained fifty men, mostly Krauts. Three of our boys, too far gone and spraying blood. Blood I couldn't waste.

Stein took a bullet to the foot but my boys are alive.

They call me Red Willy and not because of my hair. 

I've wandered from Manchester to Frisco. I've danced with queens and trapped with Lakota and fought with buffalo soldiers.

Europe was never kind to me. 

New York on the other hand… 

I'll get home to my gal if I have to drain every last seig-heiling ratfucker on this continent.

_ (to be continued) _


End file.
